The Ally
by Miskcat
Summary: How did Gracia become a supporter not only of Maes's plans for the future, but therefore of Roy's as well? A speculation on how she may have been introduced to the idea.
1. A Subject Broached

Part One - A Subject Broached

Maes Hughes waited outside the door, toes tapping. He knew he was almost a half hour late, but he didn't think Gracia would mind too much. He hoped not, anyway. It was all because the first flower shop he went to was closed for some reason, so he had to hunt down another one. He hoped she wasn't mad. She was taking an awfully long time to answer the door. What if she'd left?

But no. He could hear footsteps in her front hallway now, and finally the door was opening, and there she was, asking anxiously, "Maes, are you alright? I was starting to worry that something had happened to you. Come in, please." She ushered him in and closed the door, her eyes darting up and down his tall form, looking for possible injuries.

Hughes kissed her cheek and presented the flowers. "Sorry I worried you, Gracia," he said. "I really had to look around for these. It took longer than I expected. I'll try to call if it ever happens again."

"You know it isn't necessary to bring flowers every time, Maes," she smiled, but still she pulled back the wrapper and breathed deeply in delight. "Red roses! You shouldn't have. But they're so beautiful."

"Beautiful flowers for the most beautiful girl in the world," Hughes said staunchly, and this time kissed her on the lips, smiling into her eyes. Then he lifted his head and sniffed. "And the best cook in the world, it smells like. Tell me I haven't ruined the whole dinner by coming late."

"No, of course not," she laughed. "A wise cook will allow some leeway. But you've used up most of yours."

She walked into the kitchen and he followed, watching her appreciatively. She'd dressed up for their dinner together, in a simple, elegant, dark blue sleeveless dress, with silver accessories at wrist, neck, and ears. He wondered fleetingly if he should have worn more than just his most casual suit and shirt. He didn't even have a tie on.

But Gracia didn't seem to notice, or mind. She had him cut the rose stems and put the flowers into a tall vase, while she herself went back and forth to the dining room, setting the food on the table. Hughes carried the vase in and set it as the centerpiece when they were ready to eat, and they sat down, facing each other across the table.

He immediately sprang up again and shifted the vase to one side. "The flowers are pretty, but I'd rather look at you," he said. Gracia smiled, a light blush touching her cheeks.

He noticed immediately that she'd set out her really fancy dishes – probably the china her mother had given her. And there were lit candles. And a linen table cloth. She really seemed to want the evening to be special, even though they'd been going out for months now, and had spent evenings like this before. For an uneasy moment, Hughes hoped he would live up to her expectations, but was more than a little afraid he would not. Not with the subject he needed to broach tonight.

It was still a little hard to get beef, after the long disruptions of the Eastern Rebellion, but Gracia had made a wonderful roast chicken dinner with orange sauce, with roasted vegetables, and sauteed greens and currants. Even the currants were a bit of a luxury right now, but when pressed, she only said, "Oh, I have connections who can get me things once in a while."

"You're going to have even better connections soon," Maes boasted. "I've just been transferred to a very good position in Investigations. When you need currants – or anything else, from now on – I'll be your man."

"You're already my man," she murmured, smiling.

Hughes' hands stopped suddenly, coming to rest on either side of his plate, still holding the knife and fork. He gazed at the young woman across from him, his heart constricting as he licked his lips and prepared to speak. He opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to find his voice. Or maybe, he admitted ruefully to himself, he didn't want to. Their evening together had started so pleasantly.

Gracia didn't notice his sudden silence, but spoke again. "Actually, I'm relieved to hear about your transfer. And congratulations, by the way. It's especially good news to me, because it means you'll be behind the scenes a lot more, and not sent into the thick of battle. Isn't that right?"

"That's true," he said.

"Then that's one good thing about it already. After what you've told me about your friend Roy, and the shape he's been in since he got back from the East, well, anything that will keep you out of that kind of danger makes me happy. Even if I'm being selfish. But how is your friend lately?"

"It was touch and go, but...I think Roy's turned a corner now." There. He was almost where he needed to be, to begin.

"Oh, I'm so glad, Maes. Shall I bake you something else to take to him, or is he getting sick of my baking by now?"

"Sick? Who could ever get sick of your baked goodies? But he – I – " Hughes put his utensils down and stared into his plate. It was no use. He'd just have to plunge in, or it would never happen. "Gracia," he said quietly. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Of course, Maes. What is it? You can talk to me about anything."

'I hope so,' he thought to himself. 'But this thing may just be too much, even for you to deal with.'

"Gracia," Hughes began, and stopped. He shoved himself away from the table and began to pace back and forth behind his chair. "Look, I need to tell you, before anything else, that I love you. I've always just assumed that was obvious, but I don't think I've actually told you before."

"You haven't," she said. The tinge of colour was back on her cheeks. "I hope you know I love you too."

"I know." He stopped, put both hands on the back of the chair, and smiled warmly across at her. "And you're so important to me. One of the most important people in my life. I never want to lose you. I hope...I hope that never happens. But I – "

"Maes," she said breathlessly. "Are you...proposing to me?"

He hesitated. And knew immediately how his face must look, for the colour suddenly drained out of hers. Her hands dropped to her lap, and he could see her almost visibly shrinking into herself in mortification.

"Then you...," she faltered. "You're breaking up with me."

"What? No! Gracia, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just going to have to explain – it's a bit complicated – "

"Maes, I really don't think I can bear it if you give me the 'It's not you, it's me' speech." She was on the verge of tears. "If you're breaking up with me, just go. I don't want the explanations."

"Aw, hell, I'm making a complete mess of this." He began pacing again, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Gracia, I promise. It really isn't you. It's not even me. Actually, it's – " he laughed nervously. "It's Roy."

"Roy?" she repeated bewilderedly. "What's he got to do with – " Then her jaw dropped and she just stared at him.

Hughes frowned in consternation. "What? What is it? Oh! Oh, you think – oh no, it's nothing like that. Roy and I are just friends. I mean – damn. I really am making a mess of this, aren't I?"

"I think you'd better tell me what's going on. Are you breaking up with me, or not? And what's Roy got to do with this? With us?"

He put his hand on the back of his chair again, and said soberly, "The real issue, Gracia, is whether you're going to want to break up with _me_. And the reason is a decision Roy has made. No, that's not right. It's a decision we both made. And before I can dream of taking things any further between you and me, to be completely fair to you, I have to know if you can live with it."

"And...if I can't? What then?" She waited for his answer, but again he couldn't find his voice. He couldn't even meet her eyes. "I see," Gracia said. It hurt him to hear the tight control she now exerted over her voice. "I see why you said I'm 'one of' the most important people in your life. Because Roy is even more important to you. And you want me to believe you're not lovers?"

"I love Roy more than the dearest brother," Hughes answered solemnly. "I would give my life for him. But you _are_ my life, Gracia. You have to believe that."

"But..?" she prompted.

"But more important than him...and more important even than you...is...," he finished in a rush, "is that Roy is going to become Fuhrer and I'm going to put him there! Well...help put him there, anyway."

She gaped at him. "That – that's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard! Is this a joke?"

"It is absolutely not a joke. It's why I've transferred into Investigations. I'm going to give him the information and support he needs to push him all the way to the – " He stopped at her incredulous expression. "I know," he said gloomily. "It sounds like we're insane."

"That too," Gracia managed faintly. "Mainly, it sounds like you're contemplating treason."

He flopped back into his chair as though deflated. He picked up the fork, and morosely pushed a chunk of roast potato around the plate. "I know it does. I guess that's what we're doing. We're hoping it doesn't come down to an outright coup, but if that's what it takes in the end..."

A coup. He watched her shape the words with her mouth, too stunned to speak them aloud. Finally she forced words out. "Why, Maes? What has possessed you, to think of such a terrible thing?"

"Why? Because the current leadership has betrayed this country, that's why. They're taking us into war after war, for no purpose except violence. They're deliberately creating enemies, and destroying whole nations – look what happened to Ishbal. That should have been a relatively small disturbance, but the Amestris leadership fanned that little fire into a blaze that killed hundreds of thousands, and scattered thousands more into exile. Roy saw so much of it while he was there. The response to the Ishbalan rebellion was so out of proportion in its violence that we think the rebellion was just an excuse they were looking for, to create a massacre. We can't let it go on."

"What makes you think that you could change anything, just the two of you?"

"Before we're done, it won't be just the two of us. And the person who will change everything is Roy, with the help of all his supporters. He saw so clearly in Ishbal that the only way to save this country is to seek a peaceful existence, to cooperate and work together with the nations around us. He won't seek empire, and he certainly won't seek war for its own sake. Add to that the fact that he's regarded as a hero now, after Ishbal. The experience may have horrified him, but it's made him the logical choice. People will accept him, just because of the aura of magic and awe he's got around him. That will make it easier to accomplish his goal."

Gracia now seemed as disinterested in her food as he was. She gazed contemplatively into her plate for a moment. "You make it sound so plausible," she said. "But you've told me how shattered Roy has been since he came back. How do you know this isn't just his way of getting even with the leaders who sent him into that hellish situation? He'll throw them all out of power – maybe kill them – and take their place to complete his revenge. Maes." She lifted troubled eyes to his. "People like that become tyrants as bad as the people they overthrow. How can you be so sure about this? About him?"

"I understand why you feel that way. I don't blame you. I don't know if it will help, to tell you that I was already reaching the same conclusions about the leadership, even before Roy came back. So that part of it isn't just some off-the-wall justification he's dreamed up. But as to Roy becoming a tyrant as bad as they are – he won't. For one thing," Hughes said, his eyes suddenly glinting with a hard light, "he knows that if he dared, I'd be the first to stick the knife in his back."

"Maes. No," she whispered in horror.

"Yes," he said grimly, his green eyes boring into her across the table. "You have to understand. That's how important this is. That's how dire things are. But it will never come to that. You asked how I could be so sure about this – and it's because I'm sure of Roy. I'd never have to use that knife, because he'd have blown his own brains out first. After what he's seen and done and endured, he will never allow himself to turn into the kind of tyrant you're worried about. I know him. I believe in him, completely. You have to trust me on this, Gracia."

He made himself shut up, knowing that he could go on explaining for hours if he let himself. He could only hope, now, that Gracia would trust him and would understand. This had been a real leap of faith, telling her everything. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do – and Roy would have been furious if he knew – but Maes just couldn't go any further with her, knowing her integrity and goodness, while keeping something so important from her.

The silence drew out as she continued thinking about everything he'd told her. Longer and longer, until his heart began to sink.

When she finally looked up again and met his eyes, he already had a good idea of what she was going to say. "You want me to trust you about all this. But you see, that's the problem, Maes. I can't."

He thought he'd braced himself. But nothing could really prepare him for how much it would hurt. His eyes stinging with unexpected tears, he pushed himself away from the table and lurched toward the dining room exit. "Alright – I understand – I'm sorry I dragged you into this – and wasted so many months for you – "

"Maes, stop. Where are you going? Maes? For goodness' sake, will you come back here and let me finish, please? _Maes_!"

He stopped in the doorway, one hand gripping the doorjamb, but didn't look back. "What's the point, Gracia?" he said, head bowed. "If you can't trust me, that says everything, doesn't it? I don't blame you. But there's no way we can go anywhere from here, is there? You'd be fighting your conscience all the time – and I could never back down from what I think is so important. It's better if I just leave."

"No it isn't. Will you please let me finish what I wanted to say? Come back here and sit down."

Hughes obediently dragged himself back to his chair. Taking off his glasses, he wiped his eyes and then leaned one elbow on the table, resting his head on his hand. "Alright," he sighed in resignation. "If you're going to lecture me on the evils of treason, I'm listening."

"Don't put words in my mouth, thank you," Gracia said tightly. "And don't jump to conclusions I haven't stated. I never said I don't trust you. But you can't ask me to trust you blindly on _this_."

"'This' being the most important thing in my life. Which pretty much reinforces what I just said."

"I trust your conclusions, and your own commitment, Maes. I know you well enough to understand that you'd never become involved in this without very good reasons. But that's the problem – I know _you_. I don't know Roy. You tell me to trust that he'd never allow himself to turn into a tyrant. But for something that important, I can't just trust your belief in him. I need to see for myself. I want to meet him."

He lifted his head. "Then...you're not just dismissing us out of hand."

"No."

Maes stared at her, relief flooding over him at the sudden reprieve. Maybe he wasn't losing her after all. Maybe there was still hope. And yet...

"Meeting Roy. I don't know, Gracia. He's still doing the recluse thing while he recovers."

"Tell him I'm inviting both of you to dinner. Next Saturday evening. Remind him that if he wants to become Fuhrer, he can't do it from his bedroom. He has to come out eventually."

"I think he was thinking of coming out under different circumstances. Like when he returns to active duty."

"Well, this can be his trial run. And another thing. Don't tell him I know about your little plan."

"Believe me, I won't. He'd never come for dinner then. And he'd probably never stop yelling at me."

"That's not my reason, though," Gracia said. "I want to get to know him when he's just being himself, and not trying to put on a show to convince me to agree to the plan."

Despite himself, Hughes had to grin. "Well, I'll be. You're a devious one, aren't you?" He sobered immediately, and again got out of his chair, to walk around and stand beside her. His heart beating painfully hard, he asked hesitantly, "Does this mean you and I are...still...?"

She smiled. "Yes," she said. "We are. Still."

He yanked her out of her chair, planting a quick, fervent kiss on her lips, and then pulling her into a tight embrace. "Thank you. Thank you," he murmured around the lump in his throat. "I don't deserve you, but I'll try to. And I'll get Roy here next Saturday even if he incinerates me."


	2. The Test

Chapter 2 - The Test

It was, Hughes decided later, one of the more surreal evenings of his life. It began innocuously enough, as he and Roy strolled down the street toward the house Gracia rented. Roy didn't say much, but he exuded reluctance all the way.

It had taken quite a bit of persuasion to get him even to agree to this, and

Hughes could tell he still wasn't entirely convinced he should be here.

It was unnerving, too, to see how Roy's eyes constantly swept the street, back and forth, before and behind, ceaselessly on the alert for danger. Part of the reason was that the habits learned in Ishbal were hard to overcome, even now that the danger had been left behind. But this was more than habit. This was a haunting. Hughes saw the shadows in his friend's eyes, shadows of memory and fear. He couldn't guess how many ghosts inhabited the street with them.

Roy stopped walking, eyes on the ground in front of him. "Maes," he said, almost too softly to be heard. "I don't know if I can do this."

Hughes said gently, "She's just a sweet, kind girl, Roy. She won't hurt you."

"I know that. She's not the problem. You know that honour belongs entirely to me." He shifted uncomfortably. "I feel like someone is standing behind me, ready to shove a knife between my shoulder blades."

"But I've got your back. I always will." A thought occurred to Hughes. "I don't suppose you left your gloves back at your place, did you?" At Roy's averted face, he sighed. "No, I guess you couldn't. Well, Roy, between me and those gloves of yours, I'd say you've got all the protection you need."

Roy began walking again, slowly. "Yes," he said. "Yes. You're right." The exertion of his will was almost palpable.

Maes fell back into step with him. "And you do need to start working your way out of that apartment, gradually. You can't rule Amestris from your bedroom, you know." He hoped Gracia wouldn't mind that he'd borrowed her line.

He saw Roy's lips curve into a slight smile. "Good point," he said. He visibly exerted his will again, and returned his attention outward, out of the shadows in his own mind. "So you want me to learn to be civilized again, do you?"

"That's the idea. And Gracia's a good person to start with, being as sympathetic as she is."

"Which means, I suppose, that she knows what...what I did in Ishbal."

Hughes admired the calm with which his friend spoke the words - words he had cried in his terrible grief more than once in the past few weeks, in the darkness of his rooms. Hughes tried to be nonchalant in response. "Yes, of course, everyone knows about the alchemists in Ishbal. But since she's talked to me, she knows it wasn't all glory, the way it's publicized. So at least you won't be fending off congratulations, or signing autographs. She understands that it was hard on you."

Again a sidelong smile. "Hence the pies and cookies?"

"That's for sure. You get way more baked goods than I ever do," Maes complained. Gratifyingly, he heard his friend laugh softly.

As they reached the house and Hughes led the way up the walk, Roy remarked, "If this is a trial run for starting to work my way to the top, I guess I should make a major effort at exercising the charm, should I?"

"Actually," Hughes said, walking up the steps and knocking on the door, "the point tonight is just to get you out for a while, and starting to talk to people again. So it would be better if you're just yourself this time, okay?"

"Ah. Very well. Roy Mustang, mass murderer, it is, then," Roy replied.

Hughes cast a sharp glance over his shoulder, in time to catch the amused lift of an eyebrow and the sly smile. One day, he thought, this guy was going to drive him to drink.

Then the door opened and Gracia was there, smiling and making him forget everything. She kissed him on the cheek and teased, "What, no roses?"

He grinned. "No roses, but I brought a weed. Roy, get up here." He dragged his friend up the last couple of steps. "Gracia, this is Roy Mustang the recluse and baked goods consumer. Roy, this is Gracia, the most beautiful girl in the world."

"I'm so pleased to meet you at last," Gracia laughed, reaching out to shake hands.

Roy, instead, took the proffered hand and pressed his lips to it. "I'm happy to meet you, Gracia. I can see why Maes is smitten. He's a very lucky man."

A light blush touched Gracia's cheeks. Hughes said, "You forgot, I told you not to be charming tonight, remember?" He knew it was already too late, though. He watched his girlfriend take it all in: the slender figure dressed in his best colour (dark blue), the sidelong, intimate smile, the dark, mysterious eyes, fixed intently on her face. Oh yes, Roy Mustang had another fan, no doubt about it, he thought gloomily.

"I hope this can be of some use to you," said Roy, producing the bottle of wine he'd been carrying.

Gracia examined the label and then glanced at Maes, her eyes sparkling. "I see he's got connections too. I'm very impressed. Thank you, Roy, this will be perfect tonight. Now. The two of you can decide: either we be a bit formal and you have a drink in the front room while I finish preparing things, or - "

"Or," said Hughes, "we join you in the kitchen and get in your way and accidentally chop our fingernails into the salad. I vote for that."

"Me too," said Roy.

They followed Gracia into the kitchen, where she set them some fairly simple tasks - Roy to open the bottle and pour the wine, while Maes carved the pork loin roast. She was just finishing some sort of herbed rice dish.

"And the salad is already made. Sorry, Maes," she smiled. "But Roy. Tell me about yourself. How long have you been in the military?"

Hughes watched and listened as he carved the pork slices and set them on a china platter. Gracia spoke casually, asking Roy easy questions, drawing him out to speak of himself without pressure. Maes was sure that Roy must know what she was doing, but his friend relaxed more and more as they talked. It was as though he sensed that he really was safe here, and could finally let down his guard and simply be himself for a short while.

Not that he spilled his guts to any extent. Even at the best of times, he tended to keep his personal and inner life pretty much to himself. But Gracia did learn a few things - the sorts of books he liked to read, whether he'd ever done any gardening, that kind of thing - and Roy didn't seem to mind talking about them.

The discussion took a slightly different turn when they were seated in the dining room, Gracia and Maes at the ends of the table, and Roy between them. When Gracia asked, "How did you meet each other?" the two men answered simultaneously, "At the academy," and then met each other's eyes and burst out laughing.

"I think there's a story here," Gracia said. And this launched them into a series of tales of the exploits of Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang at the academy.

Well, maybe not "exploits," exactly. It wasn't like they were total hellions; there were other students who filled that role much more adequately.

"Though there was that time," Hughes reflected, "when I ended up in jail for burning down the storage shed."

"But I did go in and tell them it was me," Roy reminded him. He explained to Gracia, "I was experimenting with my alchemy and hadn't quite learned to be as precise as I needed to be. But I let them know it wasn't Maes's fault."

"You did," Hughes agreed. "The next day. In the afternoon."

"I had an exam that morning. You knew that."

"I did know. I was supposed to write the same exam," Hughes said.

Roy laughed. Then added, again, to Gracia, "By the way, he aced the course and I barely passed. Even with the extra exam."

"That's right," Hughes said. "I always got the grades - he always got the girls."

"Saved you for me, then," Gracia murmured.

"There, Maes," Roy drawled, leaning back in his chair and smiling that sly smile of his. "It all turned out right in the end, didn't it?"

Hughes grinned back at him. He hadn't seen Roy so relaxed in a long time - since before Ishbal, in fact. He could kiss Gracia, for how well she was handling this. In fact, he could kiss them both, just because. This was going better than he'd ever expected.

"Well, gentlemen," Gracia said now. "Would you like to retire to the parlour while I put on water for tea? I've made a pie for dessert, but I thought we'd have that in a few minutes, after we've had a chance to let things settle."

As they pushed their chairs back, Roy commented, "Thank you for the pies and cookies, by the way, Gracia. They've been delicious, and I've really appreciated them."

"I'm glad to hear that. I always enjoy baking goodies for people."

"Well, they've been a lifesaver for me," he told her. "Kept me cheerful on a few...bad days."

She had begun to turn toward the kitchen, but now turned back, regarding him thoughtfully. "Whatever helps, Roy. I mean that. Sometimes small things can make a big difference during hard times. I hope you're starting to feel better."

"A little," he said quietly. "Between Maes and you..."

She smiled. "That's very good. Now go sit, and I'll bring in the tea."

Roy went into the parlour but Hughes hesitated, watching Gracia depart. It had been so quick: one little mention, and then on to other things. But Roy had talked about it, voluntarily, with her, a virtual stranger. How did she do that?

Yet again, it struck him how very much he loved her, for so many, many reasons. But that little exchange with Roy - whatever magic she worked, that even made it possible - that had to be near the top of the list.

He joined his friend in the parlour. Roy was examining the gardening books in one of Gracia's bookcases, but he turned and smiled over his shoulder when Maes came in. "Very nice girl," he said, and turned back to the books. Hughes could hear the smile in his voice, and all the approving and teasing things Roy hadn't said.

"Why yes," Hughes said, and knew that Roy's hearing was equally as acute.

"There's a lot of good information in these books. Maybe I should take up gardening, do you think?"

"You'd probably need some dirt first," Hughes observed critically. "Maybe behind a house. With a wife in it."

"Oh, don't start that again," Roy groaned. "It's enough for now that you're thinking about a wife." He cast another glance over his shoulder. "You are, aren't you?"

Hughes smirked at him and opened his mouth to make some joke - and then it hit him that no, maybe a wife wasn't as likely as Roy thought she was. Tonight was supposed to help decide that, wasn't it? And despite how well things were going, he couldn't just assume what the verdict would be.

"What is it?" Roy asked. Trust him to notice his friend's sudden consternation.

Hughes forced himself to laugh. "Nothing. It's just you, pushing me ahead of myself. I'm the one supposed to be pushing you, remember?"

"Not about a wife."

"But seriously, Roy, while we're alone...how are you doing? Being here, I mean. I hope it's not as bad as you thought it would be."

"Bad?" Roy turned in surprise. "No. I'm really enjoying this. I'm glad you twisted my arm."

"Good. I should do it more often."

"Don't press your luck, Maes."

Gracia came in a few minutes later, carrying a tray with the tea things. Hughes stepped forward, but Roy was there first, taking the tray and setting it on the low table before the couch. Gracia motioned him to sit beside her, while Hughes took the arm chair near her end of the couch.

She poured him a cup and passed it over. Their fingers touched a he took it, and they shared a warm glance. Then she took the tea pot and began to pour another cup.

"And now, Roy," she said as she poured, "tell me about your plan to overthrow the Fuhrer."

Hughes gasped, "Gracia!" and choked on his tea.

Mustang surged to his feet. Hughes coughed and hacked, fumbling to set his cup on a side table, trying to catch his breath. He had to intervene - explain - say _something_ - before his friend started yelling at Gracia. What was she _thinking_?

"How dare you."

Hughes looked up, still coughing and trying to find his voice, to see that Roy was looking not at Gracia, but at him. His friend's eyes were ablaze with rage, and hurt, and his eerily quiet voice vibrated with barely contained anger.

"How dare you," he repeated. "You betrayed me. Already - before I've even begun - you _betrayed_ me."

He lifted a shaking hand, fingers poised instinctively to snap, the other hand digging into his pocket. Digging for his gloves.

Hughes froze, staring in horror at Mustang's black, implacable eyes. He had never seen that expression on Roy's face, in all their years of friendship - never dreamed Roy was even capable of looking like that. The hatred - the blank, primeval _rage_ - Hughes realized in a flash of dreadful insight that the only people who had ever seen that look on Mustang's face had died horribly, in Ishbal.

He had gone too far, revealing the secret. He was going to pay dearly for it.

"Roy Mustang," said Gracia, her voice cutting like steel between the two men. "Sit down this instant!"

There was no reply. Mustang's eyes remained fixed on Maes's face, rock hard in their singular purpose. Hughes wanted to speak, to cry, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" but he was paralyzed by the hot, alien glare.

"I said _sit_ _down_!" Gracia commanded. "Look at me! Roy - _look at me_!"

Suddenly - miraculously - the fixed stare broke. Roy's eyes flickered, and turned away, transferring their hot gaze to Gracia. Otherwise, he barely moved: one hand remained poised while the other still excavated the pocket.

Hughes literally sagged in relief as the tension broke. But he grimly braced himself to leap forward if necessary. If Gracia couldn't defuse this situation, and Mustang tried to hurt her - he'd kill him. Friendship or not, he'd rip his throat out.

Gracia said again, sternly, "You will sit down right now, Roy Mustang. Because if you dare to attack your best friend - if you attack my boyfriend, in my house, as my guest - you will be precisely the tyrannical brute that Maes promised me you were not!"

Roy blinked. He still didn't sit down, but slowly his hand lowered and his fingers loosened. "You don't understand," he said.

"I understand that your friend loves you, and has not betrayed you. How can you even say such a thing?"

"He should never have told you." The anger still vibrated in his voice.

"You are completely wrong about that. Please, Roy, sit down. Let me explain." She waited pointedly, and at last he sat, on the edge, as though he couldn't relax. Or, thought Hughes, still braced and watching anxiously, as though he were poised to flee.

"I'm listening," Roy said, finally. But it was clear that the anger still simmered just below the surface. His gaze was hard on Gracia's face.

"You've asked Maes to work with you on your project," she said, "and he is never going to abandon you. But at the same time, he and I have fallen in love, and we want our relationship to go as deep as it can go. But you know him, Roy. He's a man of honour and integrity. How could he possibly draw me into his life when there's this... _secret_...sitting there between us?"

"Military men are always keeping secrets from their girlfriends or wives," he said stonily. "It comes with the territory."

"Not a secret like this," she insisted. "This would permeate our whole life, in a way that nothing else ever could. It could even be dangerous, not just to Maes, but to me. Do you seriously think your friend could live with himself if he let me walk into that life completely blind to everything around me?"

Roy didn't answer. But he seemed to be contemplating her words, head bowed, as he stared at his hands, now dormant on his lap. He took a deep breath, as though trying to clear his head.

Gracia said softly, "You should know that Maes is so dedicated to your cause that if he had to choose between me and you, he would choose you and this plan. And that is why he told me. He had to know if I could be with him, and live with that possibility. Which is why I'm talking to you now. Because I need to decide."

Roy looked up sharply, peering at her as though trying to read her mind. He searched her face for a long time. Hughes realized with another surge of relief that the blind rage, at least, seemed to have dissipated. Finally, Roy closed his eyes, rubbing a hand across them.

"Damn," he said. He looked at her again, and spoke with astonishing gentleness, "Maes has posed you an impossible dilemma - and it's all my fault. I'm sorry, Gracia. Truly sorry."

"It doesn't have to be impossible," she said. "That's why I wanted to meet you. I just needed - "

"You need to know what kind of person I am," he finished for her. "Whether I'm worthy of Maes's dedication. Whether I will become Fuhrer and become - what did you call it? A tyrannical brute."

"I'm sorry," she bowed her head. "I didn't really mean that."

"Of course you did." He lifted his right hand and stared at it as though he'd never seen it before. "I was ready - I was ready to - " At last his eyes moved past Gracia and met those of his friend, who still watched, holding his breath, to see what would happen.

_You were ready to kill me_, Hughes thought. _And I was ready to kill you_. He suddenly felt as though the whole world was collapsing around him. He couldn't tell yet how Roy felt about it all; his friend's face was closed and unreadable.

"Alright, Gracia," Roy said suddenly. "You want to know what kind of person I am. I'll tell you." He rose again, moving to stand in front of the fireplace, leaning one elbow on the mantle. He moved with his usual grace, and looked like a statue as he stood there, gazing toward the window. It was as though he were isolating himself from both of them, perhaps to give them some objective distance.

_As though I could ever be really objective about you now, after all these years and what we've already been through_, Hughes thought ruefully. _What has happened to us, since those early, straightforward days in the academy?_

And then Roy began to tell his story, obliterating all other thought. Because this was a story even Hughes had never heard in its entirety.

It began with what he knew: Roy's decision to join the military and become a State Alchemist, hoping to use his alchemic skills to do something good in the world. Followed by the growing suspicion, as the early months and couple of years passed, that this might not be the place where he could live his ideals, after all. But he stubbornly refused to give up, somehow believing that he could make it work out anyway.

And then. The transfer to Ishbal, where he thought he and his fellow alchemists were merely going to help quell a rebellion, a minor one, but an ongoing irritant to the state. The moment when Tim Marcoh opened his small case and revealed the imperfect versions of the philosopher's stone that he had created. The gradual realization that this marvel was not going to be used to heal all the ills in Ishabal, as Roy would have expected. Instead, one of the stones was set into a ring that he wore with his gloves.

"They told us the stones would make our powers stronger," Roy said, gazing steadily out the window from his position by the mantle. "We had no idea until the first time we used them, just what they would really do to us."

Hughes' stomach and throat tightened as he prepared to hear the story, again, of the State Alchemists in Ishbal. He saw that Gracia was following every word, her eyes fixed raptly on Roy's profile. He hoped she could handle this.

He should have worried about himself first, because this time he heard the full story, the one Roy had never even been able to bear to tell him, his closest friend. And at last, at last, Maes fully understood the drinking and the darkness and the long nights of black despair, and the taboo alchemic symbols Roy had scrawled all over his walls and floor as he drove himself, half-mad, to seek a way to undo the things he had done.

The first time Roy had used the ring to "augment" his powers, standing at the edge of a town, thinking he was simply going to eliminate the rioters that were ranged against the military forces at the outskirts - not only had the rioters died instantly in a swift blaze, but the entire town had almost evaporated, people, buildings, everything.

"There were buildings made of stone," he said. "Stone. But I burned them. There was nothing left of that town but pools of lava where the stone melted."

He had been sure there was some mistake: the glowing red stone was too strong, they'd given him one that was too big, he hadn't aimed properly, or something. But the higher-ups had congratulated him on the "trial run," and next day had sent him to deal with a larger city. He was not expected to help put down a disturbance. He was expected to destroy the city.

And then another. And another, and another. He described each city in detail, as it had been before, and as it was when he was done with it. On and on he went, giving detail after detail. His listeners began to realize that he had scouted each city, street by street, in advance of his attack. He hadn't even needed to; one blast with the help of the ring, and the city would be levelled anyway. But once it was destroyed, he would be the only living person with any memory of how it had once been.

With the second use of the stone, as he became more attuned to it and it to him, he began to feel its awful pull on his soul. Every time he used his skills, he felt the explosions inside him as well as out, in vast bursts of exhilaration. Sometimes it was hard to hold himself back even as much as he managed to do. When the destruction began, so did the hunger, for more and more and more. Sometimes he felt like a god, with the maelstrom swirling around him, the temptation growing to try to destroy the entire world, just to see if he really could.

But with the exhilaration came the sensation of death. He felt them all - every death he inflicted burst screaming into his mind, until he could barely distinguish between the tumult inside and the devastation outside. He only came to himself again, some nights, when he staggered back into his tent, not knowing if he'd been gone an hour or a year. Some days, if he had destroyed too many times, too close together, he fell so deep into the chasm that he couldn't even remember his own name.

Maes wanted to scream. He couldn't bear it! He couldn't go on listening to this - this litany of horror, described so calmly and clinically. He found himself bent over, weeping, both hands clutched convulsively in his hair. He could hear Gracia close by, crying softly. But he couldn't even lift his head to look at her or comfort her. There could be no comfort for this, for Roy or anyone, anywhere in the world.

"What made it hard to sleep or be comfortable when we were in camp," Roy went on, tonelessly, "was the grime we came back wearing." The air was thick with it. The fine sand of Ishbal, the dust of pulverized buildings - and gluing it all together, the vaporized fat of bodies, human and animal. Sometimes they almost choked on it, trying to get a breath as they stumbled away from a scene of destruction. Sometimes it could only be scraped off with pottery shards, or dull knives, or shaving blades...

"Oh god," Maes whispered. He thought he might throw up. He couldn't bear this!

"I asked them how many people I had killed," Roy went on calmly, relentlessly. "They said it wasn't important, that these were nothing but vermin, and you didn't worry about how many cockroaches you had exterminated. But I looked for the information later, when I got back."

_Oh god_, Maes thought, the realization tightening around his heart. _All those books, everywhere in his rooms. They weren't just alchemy books, were they? He was trying to find out exactly how many people he needed to bring back --_

"I remembered the name of every city. I looked them up, and found out their populations. The numbers weren't exact, but I think I came close. I think I probably killed about half a million - "

"Stop!" Hughes cried, leaping to his feet. "Stop, Roy, just _stop_ it!" He flung himself across the room, grabbing Mustang's shoulders and turning the man to face him. "Stop doing this to yourself, dammit!"

"But Gracia needs to know - "

"No I don't," she murmured, from behind the handkerchief pressed to her eyes.

"But I haven't even talked about the doctors yet - "

Hughes' breath caught, as he met Roy's dark, anguished eyes. The man had set himself this task and driven himself to fulfill it, no matter how much it hurt. He was always so damned determined to do what was required, to do what he saw as his duty. So he had forced himself to lay his wounded soul open to them, even though he hadn't even been sure he was ready to leave his seclusion in the first place. And it was killing him.

"Roy." It was Gracia, still weeping on the couch. "I'm sorry. I should never have asked you about this. I'm so sorry!"

He pulled out of Maes's hands and moved back to his seat beside her. "No. Don't be sorry," he said gently. "You were right. You need to know everything, if you're going to be involved in this. You both do."

"I just - had no idea - "

"Do you see now? Do you understand why I have to do this? The wars, the senseless destruction, I just can't let them go on. I have to change things."

"And maybe...make some kind of atonement?" she asked, her eyes shrewd upon his pale face.

"Yes. Especially that." His shoulders slumped wearily. "I'm sorry. I think I need to go home."

"Are you sure?" Gracia asked. "If you like, I can make a fresh pot of tea. It might calm you, a little."

"Thank you, but...I think I just need to go. I'm very tired."

"If you have to go," said Maes, "I'll go with you."

"No, you stay." Roy stood up. "You and Gracia have a lot to discuss."

"I'm not letting you walk back by yourself, after all this."

"Maes, I just need to be alone for a while, and you two need to talk. I'll be fine." Roy met his worried gaze and said softly, "If I promise that I'll still be there tomorrow - alive - will you let me go? Please?"

Hughes regarded him for a long moment in silence. "You have to promise," he said at last. "Because you and I need to talk, too."

"We will. Tomorrow." Roy took one of Gracia's hands, and again put it to his lips, closing his eyes. "If you decide against involving yourself in all of this, I'll understand. And you'd be wise not to." He stood, and walked toward the door, stopping to put a hand on Hughes' shoulder. "And if she decides against it - you go with her."

Then he was gone, and Maes and Gracia were left staring at each other.

"I'm so sorry," Gracia said again. "I had no idea this would be so hard on him. I just wanted to see how he'd react if he was caught by surprise. I didn't realize it would feel like such an ambush. You must be furious with me."

"It's alright, sweetheart. I don't think there was any way we could have brought it up with him, that would've ended any differently. Don't be too upset."

"I won't if you won't," she said pointedly.

Hughes sat down and pulled her into his arms. "I've made a career out of worrying about him. You don't have to."

"But we'll need to," Gracia mused. "I can see he has a lot of strength, and he's very determined to do this. But there's still so much pain. He's going to need a lot of help, to heal, so we'll really need to take care of him for a while. I hope you're prepared for how long it might take; he won't be ready to become Fuhrer overnight."

Hughes peered into her face. "Gracia. Are you saying...?"

"What? Oh. Yes, of course. I understand how you feel now, and I think you're doing the right thing. And I'll help in every way I can. I think what Roy needs, more than anything, is just someone to love him, and give him a home he can come to when he needs it. So we'll do that for him."

"Thank you. I love you. Thank you." They held each other for a long time in silence, each of them contemplating the events of the evening and the disturbing turn they had taken. But at last, Maes sighed and said, "Since the mood around here has been so confessional tonight, I guess I should confess something too. I lied about one thing, when we were all talking earlier."

"Really? What?" Gracia lifted her head and peered at him anxiously.

"I said that I got the grades and Roy got the girls. But...I'm afraid he actually got the grades too."

She looked at him expressionlessly for a moment. Then she burst out laughing - howling, actually - and they collapsed against each other, shrieking with laughter.

They were going to be okay, he thought. No matter what else happened, he and Gracia were going to be very okay.


	3. Aftermath

Part three – Aftermath

Maes reflected that he was spending a lot of time lately, escorting people down the street who really didn't want to go with him.

"Are you sure we should bother him so soon?" Gracia fretted as she strove to keep pace with his long strides.

He slowed down. "Roy did say we should talk today," he reminded her.

"But it's barely noon. Maybe he'd like more time. I wonder if he really wants to see either of us yet."

"I know Roy," Hughes said. "He's been expecting me since dawn. If I didn't show up, he'd be really surprised." He caught her skeptical glance, and laughed. "He'd know I'd be so worried about him that I couldn't stay away. If I didn't show up, he'd think something had happened to me."

"I hope you're right. But I wouldn't blame him if he slammed the door in our faces."

"He won't," Maes said. "We've got cookies."

They did, indeed, have cookies. He and Gracia had finally fallen asleep in each other's arms on the couch last night. By the time Maes woke up, the sun shining through the windows into his face, Gracia was up, showered and dressed, and making breakfast in the kitchen. The aroma of baking bread had set his mouth water, and he'd thrown back the blanket she'd placed over him, picked up his glasses from the side table she'd set them on, and crept into the kitchen doorway just to watch her.

She hummed as she checked the eggs boiling on the stove and then drew a package of bacon from the icebox. The water kettle was heating up beside the eggs, and a plain brown teapot sat waiting on the counter nearby - a more "everyday" pot than the china teapot used after dinner last evening. The table by the window was already set, with a pristine white cloth and blue dishes with little red flowers around the edges. One small glass of orange juice had been set at the head of one of the plates. He realized immediately what a treasure it was; oranges were still hard to come by, as the eastern growers laboured to re-establish orchards, and trade routes to the east stabilized slowly. She'd probably used her last couple of oranges to squeeze this juice for him.

Maes came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, leaning his cheek against her hair. Gracia leaned back against him as she continued her rhythmic slicing of the bacon.

This morning - the comfortable domesticity and simplicity of it, in the company of this woman - this was the sort of morning he wanted to wake up to, every day for the rest of his life. But before he could take hold of that, he had to clean up the current mess first. And that meant settling things once and for all with Roy.

So after breakfast, Maes helped Gracia make a special batch of cookies to take to Roy as a peace offering. Or rather, he "helped" until she seated him firmly back at the table with a cup of tea, while she finished the cookies with the batter he hadn't already scooped out and eaten. He'd obediently stayed out of her way after that but rose to his feet almost immediately, pacing back and forth behind her, from doorway to table, until she said quietly over her shoulder, "If you need to go to him now, I could meet you later. Do you want to go alone?"

He halted abruptly. "No. That is - no."

There were plenty of cookies, despite his earlier thievery. Gracia packed them in layers, in a small box that he now carried in a cloth bag. It swung by his leg as he walked, rotating slowly from the occasional bump.

They strolled toward Roy's apartment building, nodding to people as they passed, and stopping a couple of times to pet a dog and chat with its owner. The weather was growing cooler as autumn took hold, and the bright morning sun on the turning leaves created canopies of rustling red and gold arching over the walks.

As they drew near the building, Maes's pace kept increasing and he had to force himself to slow down for Gracia's sake. He found himself wiping a damp palm on his pant leg. He wasn't sure if he was eager to have this little talk, or if the urge to rush came from the fervent wish just to get it over with.

Roy lived on the second floor. As they came out of the stairwell, Maes led the way down the long hall, but as he approached Roy's apartment, his steps faltered. The door stood half open, a cold breeze blowing through it into the hallway. There was no sound from inside, and he saw nothing but darkness in the wedge of space between door and frame.

"What the hell...?" He passed the bag of cookies to Gracia, even as he slowed her progress with an outstretched arm. For a moment he hesitated, glancing back, debating whether he should send her back outside. But he whipped his head around again as a light gust of wind hit him form inside the apartment. That smell...? Strong - sour - sharp -

"Roy. No. You promised me..." He was hardly aware of his own hissed words, so loudly was his heart suddenly pounding in his ears. The throwing knife dropped from his sleeve into his hand, and he heard Gracia gasp at is appearance, but there was no chance to explain. He had to see. Had to be in time. "Stay back," he said quietly. It was all he dared take time for.

He inched forward, flattening himself against the wall. Still no sound from inside. The acrid smell grew stronger as he came nearer. Not a burned smell, which he might have expected, but something more acidic. He pushed the door slightly, and peered with one eye around the frame. He could see a corner of the desk to his left, but nothing beyond it. A pail of...something...sat on the desk, the liquid shimmering with tiny quicksilver ripples as the breeze blew over it. The smell assaulted him again in a fresh gust. Ammonia.

Another cautious push of the door, and his view broadened. The apartment wasn't as dark as he'd thought at first; he could see an open window in the wall past the desk, a curtain billowing as cool air rushed in, drawn by the wider door opening. Sunlight streaked from the window in a band across the floor, sharply illuminating the arm chair and table in its path before leaping like flame up the bookcases on the right.

And the alchemical arrays were almost gone. For weeks they had been painted or scrawled all over the floor and walls, in fact, on almost every open surface in the apartment, sometimes created with paint, and other times with actual blood. But the swath of sunlight across the floor showed that it was completely clean, and that many of the circles on the wall were half-scrubbed off.

And just as he recognized that, Maes finally saw him. With the streak of light blazing across the centre of the room, the back half had been cast into contrasting darkness. And deep in the shadows stood the slender shape of a man, half turned away, head bent.

"Roy...?" Hughes called softly, his heart still pounding in his throat. "Are you...alright?"

Roy's head lifted, but he made no other move. "Maes," he said.

"Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing."

Hughes stepped further into the room, and now saw a couple more pails full of soapy water, one under the window and the other near a bookcase. At last Roy left the shadows and came forward into the light from the window.

He hadn't even changed his clothes since last night, except to remove his suit jacket. But he wore the same pants and light blue shirt, though the shirt sleeves were now rolled up. His pale face was drawn and weary, and there were dark circles around his eyes. He gripped a cleaning rag in one hand.

Hughes slid his knife stealthily into a pocket. "You're washing the floor? That's all this is? You had me scared half to death."

"Did I? Sorry. I've been cleaning since dawn. What took you?"

Hughes fought back a wild urge to laugh and call Gracia in to tell her 'I told you so.' But perhaps he'd wait till he understood what was really going on here, before bringing her in. He said. "I overslept. Roy - you look like hell."

Roy's lips twitched. "Why thanks, Maes," he said drily.

"Have you had any sleep at all?"

The rag twisted and twisted in his hands. "No," he said finally. "I spent a lot of the night drinking."

Maes should have guessed. He probably would have, if the ammonia hadn't masked the smell of the alcohol. But he could smell it now, as he stepped closer and grabbed the front of Roy's shirt with one hand. "No wonder you look like shit. Dammit, you've got to stop doing this to yourself - "

He bit the words off; Roy wouldn't have heard them anyway. His eyes had focused sharply over Hughes's shoulder, and for one shocking instant, fear flashed across his face. Hughes whirled around, already reaching again for his knife, then heaved a sigh of relief. It was only Gracia, walking hesitantly across the room toward the two men.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said. "I was getting worried."

"It's okay," Hughes said. "Roy's just cleaning up. I might have thought of that when I smelled the ammonia, except that I was too afraid there was something else going on." He glanced back and raised a pointed eyebrow at his friend. "But I'm partly right, aren't I? You drank all night, trying to get up the nerve. Didn't you?"

Still the rag, twisting and twisting. "Not...exactly," Roy said at last.

"Not _exactly_? What's that supposed to mean?" Hughes demanded. "Is that supposed to reassure me - "

"Maes, just drop it," Roy snapped. "I'm still here, aren't I? I told you I would be. And I didn't drink 'all night', just part of it. After a few hours of drinking, I realized I wasn't going to achieve the oblivion I was looking for. Since I'd promised you I wouldn't look for any other kind," he added with a grimace. "So I finally decided to stop drinking and start thinking instead."

"I see," Hughes said. "And what did you think about?"

Roy's eyes strayed to where Gracia had come to a stop, a little behind Maes. "I think I should wait outside after all," she said, turning back toward the door.

"No," Roy said. "That is...don't stay if you're uncomfortable. That's my fault, and I'm sorry. But I need to say something, and...I think you should hear it too. If you want to stay."

She hesitated, and she and Maes shared an uneasy glance. But finally she nodded, walking to the arm chair by the window. Roy was already clearing it off for her, pulling several sheets of paper from the seat. Hughes could see that they were covered with alchemic arrays, and he suppressed a shudder. Every time he'd come here for the past several weeks, all of those circles, with their dark aura, had made his skin crawl and his hair want to stand up.

As Gracia sat down, she accidentally brushed against Roy's arm, and he jerked backward with a gasp. The papers - and the rag - flew from his hands, scattering on the floor, floating all over it with the help of the breeze still flowing into the window. The two men crouched down simultaneously and began to gather them again. But Roy's hands shook as he reached for them, and almost immediately he stood again, turning back toward the dark half of the room, fists clenched at his sides.

"Roy," Gracia said softly. "What's wrong? You can't be...afraid? Not of me?"

He stood still as stone, facing into the shadows.

Hughes looked from one to the other, holding his breath. Gracia's eyes were fixed on Mustang's profile, partly obscured, as usual, by the fall of his hair. She said softly, "I don't think less of you, now that I know everything. Is that what you're afraid of? I understand why Maes loves you so much. I'm going to help him help you. I think you're doing the right thing."

He took a deep breath. "It's...not that I'm afraid of you, Gracia," he said. "Not exactly. I'm more...afraid of myself."

"You shouldn't be. You're a good person, Roy. I saw that last night."

"Right." His laugh had no humour in it. "I killed half a million people, but I'm a 'good person'. And last night," he said tightly, turning back to fling the words like daggers at his two visitors, "last night, you almost _saw_ me killing my best friend right in front of you."

"Roy - " she began, but Maes said softly, "Gracia," and gave his head a small shake. He watched his friend in silence. They couldn't help him here. This one, Roy had to work through on his own.

The table stood half in light, half in shadow. Roy leaned both hands on it, and bowed his head. "I just...I don't know what to say, Maes."

Hughes could feel Gracia's eyes on him, urging him to say something reassuring. But he said nothing.

"I kept thinking about it, all night. I kept seeing you there - watching while I - I - if I'd already had my gloves on, you'd be dead. If I needed any more proof that I should have put a bullet through my skull back in Ishbal..."

Hughes could see Gracia biting her lip, trying to understand why he wasn't saying anything. He wanted to - he did - but he stared as though hypnotized at his friend's drooping shoulders and pale face. There was nothing he could say to him help with this.

"I don't know why you want to support me, Maes," Roy said unsteadily. "I told you the horrible things I've done, the people I killed - so many, many people - and I was on the verge of killing _you_ – and after all that, you wanted to walk home with me, to make sure I'd be alright." He barked a high-pitched laugh that carried more than a tinge of hysteria. "I mean - you've got to be insane to do that! But there you are, dammit, sticking with me, and there I am, ready to snap my fingers and turn you to ash." His voice fell, on the verge of tears. "It was...all I could think about, all night."

Hughes reminded himself to breathe. The memory flashed into his mind, involuntarily: sitting in the chair in Gracia's living room, gazing up at his friend's black, implacable eyes. Staring his own death in the face. It wasn't something he was ever likely to forget.

"I don't deserve any of the support or help you're giving me," Roy choked. "I know I don't. But I realized it's finally time I did something to earn it. And I know I can't do it hiding in this place, driving myself mad, dreaming of raising half a million people from the dead. If I'm really going to climb that ladder, become Fuhrer, and change things in this country...I have to leave them behind. I have to leave them dead." His hands clenched into fists on the table. "If you only knew...how hard that is...how unbearable..."

He straightened, and for a moment Maes caught a glimpse of his face - his dark, haunted eyes strained with grief. Then he turned away, running his fingers along a row of volumes in his bookcase. "But Gracia's questions showed me how far I have to go. If I really am going to do what I say - if I'm going to try to become Fuhrer - I have to be able to deal with exactly the sort of surprise that last night was. I have to convince everybody I'm being completely cooperative, even if I hate everything they're doing and everything they stand for. I'll have to be able to smile right into their faces and obey them without even a twitch. I certainly did nothing of the sort, last night. I did the exact opposite, in fact. And I almost destroyed the only good thing I have left..."

Roy faltered for a moment, grief sweeping afresh across his pale face. Then, as Hughes had seen more than a few times in the last weeks, his friend drew himself back from the edge by sheer force of will. "But it stops now. I will do what I must, to become Fuhrer. And..."

For the first time he turned, meeting his friend's eyes. "And I swear, Maes, by - by everything sacred..." He stopped, searching for something meaningful. Then said solemnly, "I swear by all the dead in Ishbal - I will never do that to you again, Maes."

Hughes stepped forward and drew his friend into a fierce hug. He could feel Roy's hands clenching convulsively in the fabric of his jacket, and for several moments, the man's slender form shook as he held him.

"That's a lot of thinking you did, Roy, drunk or not. I know how hard that was," Hughes murmured. "Or maybe I don't really know, though I can guess, a little. But I've already promised you - I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to help make it alright, and help you succeed." He glanced back at Gracia, to see her dabbing at her eyes again, and cast her a reassuring smile.

At last Roy lifted his head, wiping the backs of his hand across damp eyes, his composure gradually returning. He managed a small smile, but Hughes knew how easy it would be for him to withdraw again, in mortification, after revealing so much of himself. Something else was called for now.

Maes kept his hands on the man's shoulders, and smiled crookedly. "I know last night was tough," he said softly. "But if it's any consolation, you weren't the only one harbouring murderous thoughts - I was ready to kill you, too."

Roy gaped at him in astonishment. Hughes grinned. And watched his friend, gratifyingly, sag back against the bookcase and burst out laughing. The two of them leaned against each other, laughing uncontrollably, until they were almost retching for breath.

"Now - now you tell me!" Roy gasped. "You could've saved me the whole long speech!"

"Not a chance, pal! After you worked all night on the thing? I wasn't going to let all that thinking go to waste."

"Liar. You just wanted to see me grovel."

"Oh yeah. I don't get to see that nearly often enough."

"And I notice you didn't make any great vow never to try to kill me."

"That's my ace in the hole, Mustang, and don't you forget it."

Roy put an elbow on a shelf and weakly leaned his head on his hand, still laughing. Hughes waved to Gracia, drawing her out of the chair and into the curve of his arm.

"You always manage to do this." She smiled, indicating the laughter, recalling how she and Maes had ended up the same way last night.

"It's the one thing I do well," he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Oh," Roy said, finally getting his breath, "you do one or two other things too. But this - this keeps me sane. Don't ever stop, Maes."

"I don't intend to. In fact, I've got plans for you this afternoon," Hughes said promptly. "We're all going out for a very long lunch. A party, really. I might even let you have another drink, if you make a toast to us." He tightened his arm around Gracia's shoulders. "This beautiful woman accepted my proposal last night."

Roy's smile was so genuine and spontaneous that even Hughes was taken aback. It was one of the reasons he loved the guy - in the midst of his own struggles, he could take such pleasure in a friend's happiness.

"I'm glad," Roy said. "So glad." He said softly to Gracia, "I know my problems have been a factor in your decision, which should never have happened. But I promise to be on my best behaviour."

"I don't expect any regrets, Roy," she answered "You just keep Maes safe, and I'll be happy."

"Don't worry." He fell automatically into his usual amused drawl. "I'll be out there doing all the dangerous work while he's cozy and secure behind his desk. So you've got nothing to worry about. Right, Maes?" He glanced, with a sidelong smile, at his friend. The two men's eyes met. For a fraction of an instant, Hughes could not bring himself to return the smile. And for the first time, the beginning of a question sparked in Roy's eyes.

Which could not be allowed, especially now, at the very beginning. Hughes recovered quickly. "Exactly why I decided to work behind the scenes. No heroics here, thank you very much." At least...he hoped not. He wondered, though, if even Roy had a complete grasp on how difficult - even dangerous - this project could be. He couldn't think of that now, though. "Enough shop talk, Mustang," he complained. "I'm starving and I want to party."

"Right," said Roy. "Just let me get my jacket."

"Tell you what. Go have a shower - and then get your jacket." Hughes raised a wry eyebrow.

Roy glanced down at his rumpled and now rather grimy shirt and pants, and laughed. He looked suddenly like a great weight had rolled off his shoulders. "Got it. Five minutes."

"Take ten." Then, as he walked toward the bathroom, Hughes called after him,

"You're being so cooperative, I'm getting suspicious!" Roy merely flung up a dismissive hand, still chuckling, and disappeared.

Maes turned to Gracia. He saw that the cloth bag still dangled from one of her hands, and he took it from her, setting it on the table. "He'll find them later. I'm sure he'll enjoy them."

"I hope so."

"Well, sweetheart?" he said softly. "The adventure's about to start, and it won't exactly be just the two of us. Are you sure about this?"

"I am," she said. "He's actually rather sweet, isn't he?"

"'Sweet'." He repeated the word experimentally. "'Sweet'. I think I'll let you tell him that. I'm not that brave."

She laughed. "Oh, he's daring and heroic too, of course. But I'm marrying a man who is equally heroic. A man who will help his friend scale the heights while he stays in the background. It's going to be hard on you when he faces danger, and you know you can't remove him to safety."

This time, he didn't allow himself even the tiniest hesitation. "We'll do everything possible to keep him safe," Maes said staunchly. "And when he reaches his goal, I'm so glad you'll be there to congratulate and support him."

"We both will," Gracia amended, amused.

"Oh, yes," Maes said, smiling, his green eyes wide and guileless. "That's what I meant."


End file.
